


English Rose

by ninamazing



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-14
Updated: 2007-05-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamazing/pseuds/ninamazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>When Rose took off her apron and the Doctor re-tied his tie, they almost fit in with the rest of the well-dressed crowd at the Royal Festival Hall.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	English Rose

**Author's Note:**

> This is embarrassingly shmoopy in every possible way. (Ten and Rose go to the symphony to see Jacqueline du Pré in her first major concert! OH MY GOD, IT DOESN'T GET NERDIER THAN I AM RIGHT NOW.) But the thing is, I always say they should stretch a little when they do those historicals, instead of just taking the unimaginative route and rehashing bits of history we already know like the backs of our hands. And if I had a TARDIS right now, this would be one of the first things I'd go see.

When Rose took off her apron and the Doctor re-tied his tie, they almost fit in with the rest of the well-dressed crowd at the Royal Festival Hall. He took her hand, flashed the psychic paper at the ushers, and pretended not to notice when, ten minutes later, an elderly lady and her husband complained shrilly that they had spent good money on their front-row tickets, and wouldn't the management most _definitely_ be hearing about _this_. Rose giggled softly into the Doctor's suit jacket, and he smiled down at her. It was her first post-Mickey laugh.

After an army of Cybermen, he figured, the best thing was to drench themselves in everything that was human — and he'd settled on this. The Doctor hoped no giant race of space invaders would choose this moment to attack London; Rose deserved to enjoy this night, even if everything before and after it was chaos.

"That woman," he whispered gently in her ear as she stepped onstage, "is sixteen years old, and she is about to remind everybody in this room why Edward Elgar is a great composer."

"Doctor," Rose whispered back, "isn't he the man who wrote _Pomp and_ —"

"Don't even say it," he answered. "This, Rose Tyler, is a concerto. Just listen."

She stared at him for a moment, but drew back when he took her hand, and settled into his shoulder. After the first movement, Rose barely moved at all, except to breathe, and blink as she watched the small blond girl in front of her hold the bow across her cello. At times, she did it so lightly Rose could barely believe there were notes coming from the instrument; and sometimes the bow danced with such passion that the cello filled the hall. The girl's eyes stayed fixed on the strings, but her music was everywhere.

When it was over, the Doctor stayed as still as Rose, but spoke softly, his cheek resting on the top of her head.

"In eleven years, she will lose the feeling in her fingers, and never perform in public again."

"Why?" Rose gasped, shifting to look him in the face. It was covered with tears already, he noticed.

"Fourteen years after that," he continued, "the multiple sclerosis will kill her."

The Doctor began to doubt the wisdom of his plan to heal Rose with music as she stared through the door where the cellist had recently departed, tears still running down her face. He gathered her into a hug, ignoring the symphonygoers around them.

"But we were here," he whispered. "We saw it. And we could keep coming back, because this moment exists, in time, in space, in everything. Forever."

Rose sniffed against his shoulder. "Just like us," she managed.

"Just like us," he answered. "Forever."


End file.
